


Restless

by nana_banana



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Blindshipping, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Puzzleshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A restless half-soul is done with feeling incomplete. Yuugi Mutou takes initiative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jautsioverdose](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jautsioverdose).



> Since it's Atemu's birthday, I couldn't not post something, so have this. I wrote this for someone very dear to me because she really liked the idea. I hope she isn't disappointed.

Yuugi Mutou was anxious.

There was a flutter in his quick pulse, and his foot tapped a rhythm into the wooden floorboards. Two years had passed since the carpet had been removed. For seventeen years, the floor had been an inconsequential thing; something to walk on. It had been part of the background and never really registered on his radar. But then things had been different when he had returned on that fateful day. The feeling in his room had changed. Suddenly, the floor had called his attention like he had never seen it before. It had been glaringly obvious and distracting.

For a long month, he had done nothing but stare at it. As he carried on with his life, he had walked across the worn, trodden surface and looked down at it with dislike. He had come to hate the blue color and no sooner had he come to that conclusion, than he had asked his grandfather for permission to remove it. The worn, blue carpet had been ripped up with a vengeance and a new oak floor installed in its place. After much research and advice from the hardware store employees, he had done it himself. He had not allowed a single person to help, not even his grandfather.

With his own two hands, Yuugi Mutou had worked tirelessly until the job had been completed. Once it had been finished, however, he had not felt any better. Though the carpet was gone, the satisfaction was brief and lifeless. The only difference had been his new injuries that stemmed from his inexperience with working with his hands. But even as his fingers had ached and smarted, he had set his sights on the walls. The pale, blue color that had adorned it for his entire childhood had seemed to make a mockery of him and his personal growth. It had reminded him too much of how he had used to be; weak and helpless. With a new-found determination, he had painted over it. The color, a violet-red he could not find in any store, he had had to make himself. With the new color, he had felt only slightly better, slightly _comforted._

But it was not enough.

On he had gone, changing things here and there in his home. Carpets were replaced or done away with, walls had been painted, shelves built, leaky sinks fixed. Manuals and reference books about carpentry and plumbing had piled onto the desk in his room. He had avoided staying still for too long, filling the void with menial tasks. During this time, Yuugi had learned much and become his mother's and grandfather's handyman when he was home. Now nineteen, recently back from a competition, he had arrived in his room and finally come to terms with the feelings he had been eluding since that one day.

He could change the aspects of his room and the rest of his home. He could install shelves on the walls and cram a multitude of things into his head about home improvement. He could rearrange his furniture and spend the rest of his time away from his house in competitions and duels. But the one thing he could not do, was fill the aching nothingness left behind two years before. He could not replenish the emptiness in his head with mechanical information and purposeful disregard.

Yuugi Mutou could not continue to pretend that the hole in his heart was not there.

So after a visit to a kind, gentle soul with limpid brown eyes and his own brand of denial, an awkward online purchase, and many cups of tea, Yuugi went home feeling lighter with a small flame of hope burgeoning in his heart.

Now, exactly one week later, found Yuugi tapping his foot on the hardwood floor to the familiar beat of anxiety. He had been unable to sleep well the entire week and continued to wake in time to see the sunrise. He was tired, yet excited and nervous. He went about his morning routine and sat impatiently on his bed, phone in hand as he contemplated calling his friend to ask for the hundredth time how much longer he had to wait. He already knew the answer; his friend had told him a week ago. And even though he continued to call, that kind soul never wavered and reassured him.

 _“One week to three weeks,”_ he would calmly say and Yuugi would hang up only to call the next day with the same question.

“Yuugi! There's a package for you!”

Heart leaping to his throat, Yuugi snapped up straight and could hardly believe his ears. With an excited gasp, he dropped his phone and bolted from the bed, throwing his door open. With his heart pounding in his ears, he rushed down the hall and down the stairs to the door that led to the game shop where his mother held a rectangular package. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and Yuugi paused before her, panting as he caught his breath. Taking the box, he pecked his mother on the cheek, throwing a quick word of thanks over his shoulder, before running back upstairs and to his room where he slammed the door closed and settled down on the wooden floor.

Without pause, he ripped open the package and pulled the box from inside, breath caught in his throat, prayers building in his chest. He opened the box, lifting its lid with trembling fingers and pulled the board from within before laying it flat before him. Letters and numbers burned into the wood looked up at him and Yuugi let out a shaky breath. He pulled a heart-shaped, flat piece of wood from the box and placed the packaging aside. Biting down on his lip, he gently put down the pointer on the board and stood. He went to his desk then and pulled open the drawer, but as he reached inside, a soft noise drew his attention away before it abruptly cut off.

Looking around, Yuugi saw nothing and turned back to the drawer. He grabbed the paper his friend had given him and went back to the board, kneeling before it. Quickly, he read through the paper and set it aside within view. As he made to begin, Yuugi frowned. He was sure he had placed the planchette _on_ the board, but the triangular object was _beside_ the board. Slightly surprised, Yuugi took the pointer and settled it back in the middle of the wood. He placed his fingers upon it and ignored the first sentence glaring out at him from the paper:

 

**1\. Do not use it alone. Call me!**

 

Taking a deep breath, Yuugi spoke.

“Are you there?” and his voice trembled, “...Atemu?” He waited with baited breath and stared at the planchette, heart beating loudly in his chest. But as the seconds passed, Yuugi looked up around the room. Everything was still and in its place. Looking back to the board, Yuugi gulped. “Atemu, if you're there, talk to me.”

He waited some more, but the planchette lay unmoving and the room around him was quiet. With a growing sense of loss, Yuugi tried once more.

“Atemu,” he whispered, “please tell me you're there.” Biting his lip, Yuugi glanced to the paper. “Am doing it right?” he muttered to himself, removing his fingers to consult the list. He frowned.

 

 **2\. You most likely ignored number one. Yuugi, please be careful. Read this  
** **entire list before you start for your own safety! Use your index and middle  
** **fingers and place them on the planchette.**

 

Yuugi did as the paper said and took a deep breath.

“Atemu?” he called again and watched the stationary planchette with the last of his dying hope and his fingers fell away from the wooden pointer. With a heavy sigh, Yuugi sat back and stared at the useless novelty item he had purchased. “The afterlife must be really fun,” Yuugi said softly, “do you think of me where you are? Can you even hear me over there?” Pulling his knees to his chest, Yuugi closed his eyes. “Do you even remember me?”

A knock at his door made Yuugi's heart jump into his throat where he choked on it in fright. Quickly, Yuugi grabbed the board and hastily stood to shove it underneath his pillow and out of sight, taking care to remove the planchette from it. He grabbed the paper and straightened, stuffing it back into the drawer in his desk, along with the pointer.

“Yeah?” he called as he shut the drawer.

The door opened and in peered his mother. Her dark plum-colored eyes looked around his room uncertainly and she smiled, tilting her head curiously.

“Talking to yourself again?” she asked offhandedly, though it was obvious she was worried. She brushed her auburn bangs away from her face and the familiar glint of worry in her eyes grew. “You haven't done that in a while.”

Yuugi avoided her gaze and his heart ached inside him with memories of a voice long gone. He shook his head.

“No, mom,” he said, “you're probably hearing things. Did you need something?”

“Dinner's ready,” she said and she took a careful step into his room. Yuugi nodded at her, though he stiffened.

“Okay. I'll be down in a bit,” he said pointedly, “thanks, mom.” He expected her to go then, but she hesitated and took another careful step. It took everything in Yuugi not to snap at her. He did not appreciate her trespassing; his room was his own and he did not like intruders, not since Atemu had gone. It was like stepping on his grave. She cleared her throat.

“Have you given any thought to those colleges?” she asked and motioned to the pamphlets on his desk. Yuugi looked at them with gritted teeth. The pamphlets had been sitting on his desk for more than a few months now, unopened and ignored since he had placed them there. Yuugi grimaced fleetingly before looking back to his mother. He shrugged.

“Not really,” he admitted, “I still feel like taking the job Seto offered me.” He immediately regretted his words when his mother frowned.

“Yuugi,” she said and her tone had turned stern and scolding, “you need an education. You can't just play games for the rest of your life. That is not a job. You don't want to end up a gambler like your grandfather.”

“I don't know, mom,” he said stubbornly, “he seems pretty happy to me.”

His mother crossed her arms then, visibly peeved.

“I do not want to start this again,” she said stiffly, “Hurry and come down for dinner before it gets cold.” With a last huff, his mother left the room, closing his door with a sharp snap.

It was only then that Yuugi relaxed, his shoulders slumping. It was always the same argument. With a sigh, Yuugi moved to sit on his bed. He looked to the innocuous chair at his desk and, almost unwittingly, he could see a vague shadow, a memory of someone that no longer resided on his plane of existence. A protector that had sat there on several nights, thinking and watching him sleep, an enigma to himself and to Yuugi as well. Yuugi could almost see him sitting there, brooding and still.

Looking away, he vanished the image from his mind's eye and cursed silently. It had been two years since that person had sat there, two years since Yuugi had heard his warm, baritone voice in his head, two long years since the king of ancient past had passed. Rubbing at his eye, Yuugi pretended that the burning there was because of the lack of sleep.

* * *

He tried the board again the next day with the same result. Yuugi had sat on his floor, with the Ouija Board before him, fingers placed on the planchette, and his teeth gritted. He had called for the ancient spirit.

“Atemu?” he had whispered, very much aware of his mother keeping an ear open in his direction, “Are you there?” But there had been no answer.

Still, Yuugi did not give up. He tried again the day after.

“Atemu, I'm here,” Yuugi said, “are you?”

And the next day.

“Atemu.”

And the next.

“Atemu, that's your name, isn't it?”

And on he went.

“Atemu.”

“Atemu?”

A week after the arrival of the apparently ineffectual contraption, Yuugi sat before the Talking Board with great hesitancy. It had not worked the previous seven times he had tried and had no reason to think it would work this time around. The board was silent as a grave and the irony was not lost on Yuugi. But still, there Yuugi was, fingers poised on the planchette and a grim tilt to his lips.

“This is stupid,” he said to himself, “you're not even here. You're dead and living it up in the afterlife. Why the hell would you want to come back? Why am I still trying? I feel like an idiot.” Yuugi huffed a breath. “I might as well try reaching out to the Thief for as useful as this thing is. Now that would be something. Do you really want me talking to that guy, Atemu? You should probably stop me. I really will do it – god, I'm talking to myself.”

 

 

Dropping his hands, Yuugi threw his head back and groaned. He looked back to the useless piece of wood and chewed the inside of his cheek. It was fool's gold, gilded hope, a wild goose chase, Yuugi was pulling at threads that were not there. He said, “You're not here, are you, Atemu?”

The small blooming hope that had formed in his heart two weeks ago withered away and left a desolate loneliness in its place. Yuugi fought the feeling, but it built up within him, drowning him in a sorrow so sudden that it felt like a punch to the stomach. He felt winded and so very alone. Biting his lip, Yuugi covered his eyes.

“You're really gone,” he whispered and his voice was a broken thing he did not recognize. It was filled with anguish and pain that had been ignored, grief that had never been acknowledged. “You're _gone.”_

The ache inside him grew and Yuugi's fingers clenched over his eyes. They burned and he could no longer pretend that it was from lack of sleep. He hurt and he was falling apart, realizing for the first time that he was truly alone. The agony of it clawed at him and rendered his entire being weak with sorrow.

“Other me,” he said, slipping back into the old nickname he had not uttered in years, though it was nothing more than a whimper, “where are you?” With no reply and the knowledge that a reply would never come, Yuugi broke down, sobbing as he struggled to accept the futility of his situation. No matter how much he desired otherwise, Atemu would not be coming back. No matter how much Yuugi missed him, the ancient spirit would not be making an appearance. Pharaoh Atemu was dead and gone and Yuugi was alone.

 

 

If not for the moment Yuugi held his breath to stifle his sobs, he would not have heard the gentle scrape of the planchette over the wood of the board. Opening his eyes and wiping at the tears that blurred his vision, Yuugi looked down to the board with confusion, only to freeze in place. The pointer was moving on its own, without aid and without Yuugi's fingers upon it. He watched, stunned as the letters were singled out:

 

**I A M H E R E**

 

Yuugi's heart skipped a beat.

“Other me?” he breathed and his insides suddenly went cold with terror. If it was not Atemu; if it was something else … Yuugi glanced at the paper lying innocently, folded on the bed. No doubt, his friend would have written something to help. The planchette moved again and Yuugi's attention was torn back to it, watching, transfixed as it moved to the word “Yes” before moving on to spell:

 

**P A R T N E R**

 

“Atemu,” Yuugi said and his eyes watered, “it's really you. I can't … but you didn't respond before. Why now?” With the slide of the wood, came his answer:

 

**4 G I V E M E**

 

“Forgive you?” Yuugi said and his vague amusement with Atemu's use of chatspeak vanished at once, “Why?”

 

**I G N O R D**

 

“Ignored?” Yuugi questioned, “You were ignoring me?” The planchette moved, almost hesitant, to “Yes”. Yuugi bit at his lip and his heart thudded dully in his chest. The spirit of the ancient king had been ignoring him. Considering all they had been through together, Yuugi had not thought the spirit could do such a thing. “Oh.”

The planchette moved then.

 

**4 G E T M E M O V E O N**

 

And it was then that Yuugi understood. Atemu had not answered him for his own well-being. He had ignored Yuugi's calls to make it easier. But to hell with that. Yuugi did not care about his well-being or moving on or any of that wellness crap that was forced down his throat two years ago. He was done pretending. He wanted his other self back. He wanted Atemu by his side. To hell with everything else.

“I wont,” he said stubbornly, “I miss you.”

The planchette moved on its own once more.

 _“That will fade,”_ the spirit conveyed, _“You will forget. Heal.”_

“How can you say that?” Yuugi whispered, “I don't want to forget you. Don't ask me to forget you.” He looked up at where he presumed Atemu sat, straining his eyes to see even a glimpse of him. But Yuugi saw nothing. There was no glimmer of gold, no wild red hair, no smooth brown skin, no Atemu. The planchette moved again.

_“You must.”_

“I won't,” Yuugi said tightly, “you can't ask me to do that.” He stared at the board for the longest time, waiting for Atemu's response. But the spirit was quiet and Yuugi swore he could almost feel the solemnity fill his room. The air felt heavy and sad around him. Raising his eyes to the empty air before him, a small flare of anger ignited inside him. He said, “You can't ask me to forget you. You don't get to do that when you just left me behind like nothing!”

It was silent in the room then. The planchette did not move and Yuugi had stopped breathing. With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widened and the anger vanished instantly. Biting down on his lip, Yuugi buried his face into his hands and shook his head.

“I didn't mean that,” he said and there was regret in his voice, “I shouldn't have said that. You didn't have a choice. I'm sorry. I –”

He stopped talking and there was something cold touching his hand. Startled, Yuugi raised his head in surprise. The cold feeling moved to his cheek, then the other. His brow furrowed and Yuugi fought the tears burning at the corners of his eyes. His jaw clenched and he could almost imagine those palms on his cheeks. He could almost envision Atemu cupping his face, his face solemn, his violet-red eyes sad. The tears escaped against his will and Yuugi let out a shuddering breath.

“Atemu,” he said, “I need –” But whatever Yuugi needed, never left his lips. Instead, Yuugi fell silent when a cool feeling touched his lips. It was cold and barely there, but he felt it deep in his core. With a shiver, Yuugi closed his eyes and a whimper built up in his throat. A hundred thoughts sprang to mind, but he said nothing and sat still until the feeling moved away. Yuugi opened his eyes then and he swore he saw a glimmer of red in the moonlight that shined down from the window above. Wiping his eyes, Yuugi searched the light, but saw nothing. Still, he knew Atemu was there, just out of reach. The planchette shifted and Yuugi lowered his gaze to the floor. He watched the wooden pointer move, slowly, dragging across the board in a reluctance that Yuugi knew boded ill for him.

 _“It's time,”_ said the spirit of the ancient king.

Closing his eyes, Yuugi felt his stomach clench with a violent unease and his heart thud in distress. _“No,”_ he wanted to say, _“don't go.”_ He wished to say something and stop this. He did not want Atemu to leave him. Not again. _“Stay with me,”_ came to his lips, but still, Yuugi was silent. He had a million questions and a thousand wishes. He had so much to say that he had not been able to vocalize on that fateful day. The words had caught in his throat and left him mute. He had only been able to wish Atemu the best before the spirit left him. He could not make the same mistake again.

But as Yuugi opened his mouth to speak, the words did not come and all he could say was, “Alright.”

The wooden pointer slid down the board.

_“Goodbye.”_

The heavy presence that Yuugi had not noticed before was lifted from the room and it was strangely quiet. His breath hitched and Yuugi spoke.

“Other me,” he said to the room, but there was nothing, not even an echo of his voice. Everything was still and Yuugi understood that the pharaoh had gone. He was gone for good this time. An emptiness lodged itself in his heart and it suddenly felt like he was drowning. Yuugi clutched at his chest and he felt nothing but pain as his lungs struggled for breath. His eyesight was blurry and Yuugi swore that the walls were pressing in on him. The king was gone and he was alone once more. With a gasp, he let out an anguished sound that he did not recognize as his own.

It was a while before he realized that there was someone speaking to him, hushing him and holding him. There was a hand in his hair and another on his cheek. Yuugi turned into the comfort without a word and cried as his mother held him against her, murmuring gentle nothings against his temple.

“It's alright, it's alright. I'm here,” she whispered as she rocked him. But she was wrong. Nothing was alright; not now, not ever, not in the least.

 

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Ouija Boards are not to be played with. You might think it's just a game, but in my family, we don't fuck with it. So please don't. (However, I understand that some people do not heed warnings, so if you absolutely _must_ play with a goddamn Ouija Board, google how to protect yourself from the evil spirits/demons that will try to screw you over. (Please do not follow Yuugi's dumbass example. It was meant for storyline purposes only.))
> 
> Art by Jautsi. (She did not have any details of this story (which is why the walls and floor are the same as canon), but she still made awesome art.)
> 
> Follow me on twitter [@nanadanonini](https://twitter.com/nanadanonini)! I post writing updates, life tidbits, line excerpts, and more! It's also great to let y'all know if I'm delaying a chapter update! You can also interact with me. ♡


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